


those beautiful dreams

by aryelee



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Family Dynamics, Gen, Golden Age (Narnia), Memories, most of this is memories and its sandwiched between angst lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryelee/pseuds/aryelee
Summary: Memories between Edmund and Susan through three lifetimes.Or: here is what Edmund has held on to, and what Susan has left behind.
Relationships: Caspian/Edmund Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie & Susan Pevensie
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	those beautiful dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beguileds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beguileds/gifts).



> title from _"The Notebook of Anton Chekhov"_. full quote reads: "I hope that in the next world I shall be able to look back at this life and say: 'Those were beautiful dreams...'"
> 
> birthday fic for dorian!!! happy bday, i hope it's a good one!!

The air in England feels heavy. There’s a smog always hanging over the skyline, settling into his chest as an unbearable weight, like a stone pressed over his ribs. The ever present noise of chatter and movement stifles everything else and without anything to focus on, it’s dizzying. He remembers this; it’s always been like this, buzzing with energy and loud and heavy. He remembers how he’s missed it those first few weeks in the countryside where they were safe from the bombings.

Now, Edmund desperately wishes to leave England.

It’s not the world’s that’s changed, but him, through three lifetimes of joy and heartbreak. And though he longs to leave and settle somewhere familiar, nowhere resembles Narnia. Even the countryside and the manor felt wrong; a stillness in the air that set his nerves on edge, always a sign of some oncoming danger that never revealed itself.

Edmund, now and again and again, is just a boy trapped in the wrong _everything._

It would hurt more if he was alone. It still hurts.

Peter and Lucy turn to each other; they’ve always been a pair. Peter looking out for Lucy and Lucy looking up to Peter. They speak of Narnia in fond tones, always when no one else is there to hear what they speak of, and the memories they have only become stronger when shared.

He used to have that bond with Susan. _Used to._

The first time they came back to England, Susan had found him unable to sleep and took his hand in hers. She said, “It’s alright. We can do this again. We’ll help each other through it all until we learn how to live again.”

After a lifetime of sharing fears and nightmares, defending each other against those who refused to accept who they were, shared in the delight of a world that let them be who they are. The despair of coming back to world that only wanted to hurt them, one where hiding was survival and honesty was condemnation, Edmund couldn’t understand how he would live knowing something better was possible.

But Susan was there, just as she always was. She was there until Aslan told her and Peter they would never return, and she walked out into that train station and left him behind.

Edmund looks at Susan and desperately wishes to go back in time to a place where they stuck together and shared stories of Narnia just to find hope in this world. Susan keeps her door closed and never comes down to the kitchen in the middle of the night. It’s only Edmund who cannot sleep.

And so he remembers, but he remembers alone.

It starts a week after their coronation.

Everything before had been a whirlwind of movement and fear. This is the first time he is able to rest, and with it, able to think.

He wonders if he will ever see his parents again. If he will ever be able to go home. He wonders if he wants too.

It feels like there is a noose around his neck these days, and every breath is a struggle. The guilt of betraying his siblings when all he wanted was someone to care, the chill of the ice that seeps into his bones, the feel of his blood on his hand as he lay dying on a battlefield, just a child caught up in the struggles of higher powers.

He wonders how any of the Narnians can stand to see him.

Rather than deal with nightmares for another night, Edmund instead chooses to wander the quiet halls of Cair Paravel, slowly becoming familiar to him. The guards nod to him as he passes, and Edmund hurries past them, unable to look them in the eyes.

Not a single one asks why he’s up. Why would they? He’s one of their _kings_ , of all things, and so he is free to do as he please. Edmund wishes, not for the first time, that he could be just a child again.

He stops in a private courtyard, tucked away between wildly growing bushes and doric columns that line the edges. It’s an ideal place to hide, somewhere people know to look when they need to find him, but somewhere people rarely intrude.

But someone is already here. At the edge of the fountain in the middle of the courtyard sits Susan, with a shawl given to her by the Beavers wrapped around her.

“Ed,” she says, standing, “What are you doing still up at this hour?”

“I could be asking you the same thing,” he answers.

She sits back down and says nothing more. Edmund wishes she would smile again. She looks so much like their mother; worried, with her brow always furrowed, arms crossed defensively over her chest. But her eyes carry the same sadness of their father.

He takes a seat next to her. “I have no idea what we’re doing here.”

“Kings and queens, can you imagine? And yet,” she sighs, “Here we are. Somehow.”

“Should we try to go back home?”

“I… I don’t know. Part of me wants to, but it would just be going back into war. We may not fight in that one, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening. Narnia is in peace now. I want to hide away for a little longer.”

“We can,” Edmund says, “But I don’t feel like I deserve to.”

Susan turns to him with a frown. “If you are blaming yourself for the actions of Jadis, you better stop before I make you.”

“I still went to her,” he tries to argue, giving voice to one of the many thoughts that has plagued him for the past week. “It was still me who turned my back to the Narnians.”

“You did no such thing! Jadis enchanted you. She gave you sweets and warmth and lied to you, then blinded you with her magic and pulled you away from us. It’s her fault, not yours. How could you have known any better? You’re a kid. We’re all just kids.”

Her voice fades away by the time she stops speaking, hunching in on herself. “Ed, what are we doing? How are we going to rule a country in a world we never knew about before?”

Edmund leans against her; she’s always found comfort in the physical presence of others. Always reaching out and holding them all close.

“I wish I knew,” is all he can say. “I wish I knew.”

She wraps an arm around his shoulder. “At least everyone here is nice,” she says, forcing herself out of her negative thoughts. “They’re all happy to teach me more about Narnia. And the maids they assigned to me were really nice about helping me dress. I surprised them, but they got me new clothes that made me feel pretty. It’s not so uncommon here, people like us.”

“I mean, they gave us weapons. I’m sure they’re going to be fine with a lot of other things too.”

“Shush you, I’m trying to cheer us up.” She shoves him, and when he laughs, Susan finally smiles.

“I know,” he says, “Thanks, Su. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Edmund finds her on the balcony, three hours into the ball. He didn’t mean to stumble upon her, but he desperately needed some air, a quiet place where he could gather his thoughts. It seems that Susan beat him to it.

“Ed,” she says, turning around to face him, “I thought you’d be busy dancing.”

“I got tired. Needed some time to rest. What are you doing out here?”

Susan stares out into the distance for a long moment. She’s perfectly still, looking like a sculpture of some mourning maiden. “Hiding, I suppose,” she answers.

“From what?”

“The future.”

Edmund settles against the railing besides her. “Four years since we were crowned,” he muses, “We’ve changed quite a lot, don’t you think?”

“Have you thought about England recently? Of going back, of our parents. Anything.”

“No. I haven’t thought about it in a long time.” It surprises him, to hear Susan speak of England. To hear _England_ at all. He’s fully settled into Narnia, where the language rolls smoothly off his tongue and the weight of a sword is familiar in his hand. England almost feels like a dream now; of giant stone buildings and skies full of smoke, trains and cars and only people filling the streets. His memories of England are colorless and painful.

He’s had every reason to forget England, and none to remember it.

“What brought this on?” Edmund asks, breaking the silence again.

“Someone asked for my hand in marriage.”

“Someone _what_?!”

Susan smiles just a little at his shock. “Yes, it appears that I am now old enough to be courted. I hadn’t thought of it before. Or, I thought of it back in England, before we came here, and now I can’t really imagine what the future will look like.”

“Oh.” Marriage. That’s something he hasn’t thought about at all. He’s been so focused on keeping Narnia safe, helping all who sought his aide, looking after the those who were forgotten. He never believed that anyone would want him in that way and banished that line of thought from his mind entirely. But now…

“What are you going to do?” he asks before he can get lost in his thoughts, as he tends to do.

“I said no, of course. I don’t think I’m ready yet. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“We’re still young,” Edmund says, “You have time.”

“Peter’s been asked too,” she remarks casually, “But he didn’t notice. Mentioned it to me and was shocked when I told them what they were really asking.”

“That sounds like him.”

“Ed?”

He looks at her. “Yeah?”

Susan looks up at the stars, head tilted back. Her hair has grown long over the years, tumbling down her back and ending at her hips. It shocks him to realize how much she’s changed. How much they’ve all changed.

Their parents wouldn’t recognize them anymore. The thought doesn’t hurt at all. It doesn’t make him feel anything. But none of them had had parents in a long time. He wonders if Lucy even remembers their mother’s face.

“Ed,” Susan says again, “Are you happy?”

He looks back into the ballroom, full of light and music, where couples twirl and laugh and sing. He looks out over the lands he can see from the balcony, green and prosperous. He looks at Susan, who holds herself tall and carries an air of confidence that only really emerged in Narnia.

“I am. I think I am. Are you?”

“I’m getting there.”

The arrow nearly hits him. It doesn’t, of course, because Susan is the one shooting and her aim is impeccable.

Peter and Lucy are known to be reckless and pull incredible stunts while training just because they can, so Susan and Edmund are known as the rational ones. But those who know them better know that they are just as reckless as Lucy and Peter, just quieter about it.

Edmund readies his sword again, eyes on Susan as she nocks another arrow.

She is still, gauging the distance between them, then moves suddenly and lets loose the arrow.

The moment the arrow goes flying, Edmund moves, swinging his sword upwards in a quick slash, then bringing it back down again.

At his feet is another arrow, cut in two.

“Shall we stop here for today?” Edmund asks, sheathing his sword. The sun is high above them, steadily shining at its zenith. There are only a few clouds in the sky, and so the few hours of training has their faces flush and sweat dripping down their cheeks.

“Yes, it’s about time for lunch.” Susan slings her bow over her shoulder and wipes her face with her sleeve. “I’ll be sure to catch something tomorrow with my aim. Even if it’s not the white stag.”

“Save some confidence for the rest of us, will you?”

“As if you need a bigger head.”

Susan laughs when he jokingly pushes her away, and tosses her braid back over her shoulder. A few faun children wave at them as they pass, grinning widely and jumping to get their attention. Susan smiles back as Edmund waves, and the children giggle as they go back to their game, filling the space with their laughter.

“It’s been so nice lately,” Edmund comments. “No threats, no diplomatic guests coming, no horrible tragedy coming to strike us down.”

“Quiet enough to let us have some fun. I hope it stays like this for a while longer.”

“I’m sure it will. I can hear you start to worry, Su. Stop thinking so much about the future and just focus on enjoying this hunt.”

She sighs, but relents. “I suppose you’re right.”

“It’s been known to happen, yes.”

“Shush. Well, we’ll only be out for a few days and we’ll be able to ride back quickly enough should something come up. This will be a nice break.”

Edmund _hmms_ a quiet agreement, and looks over the busy halls of Cair Paravel. It’s always lively during the day, full of knights training and staff organizing the castle. But there is a lightness to everyone as they move. A light in every eye. Compared to the stress of the first few years of their reign, when Jadis’ supporters continued to cause trouble, where each Narnian was on the lookout for the next disaster, now there is a calm that allows everyone to smile more easily. The peace has settled into the foundations of the land and it truly is a Golden Age they live in.

Edmund looks upon all this, and thinks that though he is excited to have a break and leave the castle with just his siblings, he’ll always be happy to return home.

Of course, none of them know yet of the lamppost in the forest, one they’ve long since forgotten, or the world that waits for them still on the other side of the wardrobe. None of them are prepared for the guilt and heartache that comes from unwillingly abandoning the world they cared for so dearly. None of them know yet the feeling of looking at the reflection of themselves and seeing a child they can’t recognize. But that is a story for another day.

He hasn’t seen Susan in decades. Susan hasn’t seen him for a year. The distance between them is larger than ever.

Part of him wishes he could blame her for turning her backs on them. For refusing to remember Narnia and avoiding them as much as possible in order to form new relationships in this world. But Edmund understands Susan, always has, more than Peter and Lucy. The two middle children, often overlooked and forgotten, who turned to each other for support.

Now, it’s just Edmund, alone, as Susan spends another night out.

He had tried to tell her about his time in Narnia, the life he’s lived, the love he’s held. But the moment he mentioned that he grew old and had children and grandchildren in Narnia, Susan had looked at him coldly, and told him to stop daydreaming so much.

She left, and none of them have seen her since.

Lucy reassures him that Susan has been home; she’s grabbed her library books and another set of clothes early in the morning before leaving again. Lucy also tells him that he can talk to her, that she wants to know about his last time in Narnia after she and Eustace left.

But it’s not quite the same.

So Edmund spends another night unable to sleep, struggling to find his footing in a world he left behind two times over, when the front door opens.

Susan comes in, pulling her hair out of a ponytail and toeing off her shoes. She barely glances at him as she grabs a cup and puts on the kettle.

Neither of them speak.

Edmund carefully keeps his gaze on the table, no longer able to break the silence between them. The stillness of the kitchen settles like a noose around his neck. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time; the tightness of his throat, the heaviness in his chest, the way the world seemed to press down on his shoulders until he couldn’t move at all.

Is it guilt or fear? They’ve always felt the same to him.

“Fifty years,” Susan says, and the suddenness makes Edmund flinch. “You come up with the strangest things.”

“I was happy there. I wasn’t alone.”

“It doesn’t do anyone any good for you to be stuck in your daydreams. You should focus on what’s in front of you. I’m sure someone will catch your fancy.”

Edmund bristles at that; she dismisses him so casually, as though anyone could replace Caspian. He bites his tongue and keeps his silence.

She sighs. The kettle begins to whistle, and she quickly takes it off the heat. “I’m just trying to help you.”

There is nothing to say to that. He knows she is. Knows she’s determined to live another life here and refuses to let grief pull her down. But she’s forgetting everything they shared together, and that is what hurts him the most.

“I never really took you as the sort who would want kids. Tell me about your daydreams. They sound nice.”

He wants to. He almost does.

But.

They’re not daydreams, and talking about the people he loves as though they’re not real isn’t something he’s capable of. It isn’t something he wants to be capable of.

“It’s late,” Edmund says instead, “Goodnight Su.”

Two years after the funeral, Susan finally has the courage to open the boxes that hold her families belongings. Five boxes were all that were left after she sold the houses and the furniture and most of the clothes. Five boxes that were left to gather dust in her attic before she finally decided to open them.

She finds sketchbooks filled with fauns and dryads and centaurs. Lucy’s work, which she was so proud of. Peter’s novels, with comments written in the margin, full of questions that were never answered. A favorite blanket, a stack of cards that have been painted over, pictures and memories.

Susan doesn’t cry.

There’s a wrapped present in the bottom of one of the boxes. _To Susan_ , says Lucy’s handwriting. She always got people’s birthday gifts early and waited impatiently until she could give it.

Susan hasn’t celebrated her birthday for a few years. It always hurt too much.

The present is a shawl, and it resembles the one the Beaver’s had given her years (decades, lifetimes) ago. She doesn’t notice how hard she’s gripping the shawl until a tear lands on her right hand and makes her look down. Carefully, Susan wraps it around herself, and thinks back to all the times she wore it, sitting on the fountain in the courtyard.

Edmund often appeared there late at night. He’d keep her company until they nearly talked themselves to sleep. She wonders if he remembered it. He remembered a lot. He’s always had a good memory.

Not that it matters now. She’s the only one carrying these faded memories, holding onto the last remnants of her family.

The last box she opens is full of journals. Lucy’s, Peter’s, and Edmund’s. Most are Edmund’s.

Reading them doesn’t feel right, but these are the only things that still carries their voices, and Susan wants desperately to hear them again.

So she takes a few days off work, reads through them with careful fingers, and takes care not to let any tears ruin the pages.

Lucy writes of dryads and mermaids, her longing for the sea, how she spends every day searching for another way back. Peter writes of doubt and restlessness, feeling distance between himself and his peers, wanting to help in any way he can.

And Edmund.

His life is documented with care, written in his steady hand. The bombings, Jadis, the coronation. Sleepless nights, battles, and a white stag. Caspian and his children and his grandchildren and a whole life Susan refused to listen to because her own hurt blinded her to his.

_Caspian sent me off and I found myself walking to the kitchen where Eustace was. I laughed when he startled, but the pain of leaving Narnia behind swallowed me whole. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I remember the first time we came back, all of us, and Susan and I turned to each other. We worked together often and shared so many memories._

_It helped, not being so alone back then. But this time, after decades and a year, Susan left and I had no one else. I understand why she did it. Susan has always been the type to distract herself from pain by working herself to the bone. But I was in an unfamiliar world with a family I hadn’t seen for a lifetime._

_I should have known things would change. I just wish they hadn’t._

_Susan, don’t be alone. I know I will never be able to say this to you, but please don’t forget. Our memories in Narnia are all we have of each other now. And no matter what, remember that we all love you. We always will._

The last journal read, the last box opened. Susan weeps, grieves for two lifetimes lost, grieves for a family pushed away, and finally stops lying to herself.

And so she remembers, but she remembers alone.


End file.
